Jack and Snap
by Flittery H
Summary: Well. this is not a Mary Sue. i promise. the main character is my best friend, not me... ^_^ well it's just a little story about Jack's past and his history with an amazing girl named Snap. R&R please!


Jack and Snap

Jack looked up at Snap as she skimmed a paper, sitting up on her little perch on the edge of the base of the statue of Horace Greely. Her legs swung gently, lazily, hitting the stone base softly. His breath molded to their rhythm.

Snap. Well, when he first met her she was still Jane Harrison. His girl for how many years now? Could it really only be three? It seemed to him that they had always been together, and always would be, of course. 

They had met under normal enough circumstances, if not a bit marred by painful memories; they had lived in the same building with their respective families, if you could really call them that. Jack and his sister Hannah and their mother, Mrs. Samantha Kelly Sullivan, (their father had been put in jail when Jack was five and Hannah three) lived in the apartment next door to Jane and her father, the stern Mr. Robert Harrison. Jane was a small, lively child, about three years younger than Jack. He had always had a soft spot for her, seeing as she was ever so much more accessible to him than his real sister who delighted in primness and the friendship of other little girls. Hannah's blond tresses and saucer-round midnight blue eyes were the exact replica of their mother's (thus, in later years Jack would have trouble looking at her for fear of those blue eyes, his mother's eyes that closed and left them all alone…) and she found no greater enjoyment than laughing about and having her little pigtail braids pulled by some unsuspecting little boy of her choosing. Hannah was charming, and in no uncertain terms, a flirt, even as a child.

Snap, however, or Jane as she had formerly been known, had very little in common with Hannah. Jane enjoyed nothing better than playing in the mud. Or chasing Jack in tag. Or getting into fights. She hated having her hair pulled and would, without hesitation, turn around and punch in the nose anyone who dare to do it. Jack had learned the hard way, of course. He had also learned, similarly not to tickle her or tease her too much.

But alas, all people of strength must have a weakness. As strong and feisty as Snap was to her friends and all the outside world it seemed, she was an obedient kitten when it came to her father. Robert Harrison. Jack hated the man more than anyone probably. Even more than Jane, for all she went through with him. Since she had been old enough to run, Jane had come rushing into the Sullivans' apartment at around 2 o'clock am every Sunday morning. She would timidly knock on the door, and Jack would open it quickly, having taken to sleeping next to it on Saturday nights. Snap would rush inside and they would shut the door as quickly as they could. Hopefully it would be in time. When they were quick enough, they would hear Mr. Harrison banging on the door outside, shouting in his drunken rage for Janie to come out. Eventually he would wake Mrs. Sullivan who would come out of her bedroom wrapped in her blanket and come to the door, though she never opened it. "Mr. Harrison!" she would call through the thick wood. "I beg you to leave! You're keeping my children awake!" Little Hannah might have started wailing loudly by then, coming out of her mother's room, blond sprays of hair protruding at odd angles from her braids, tears streaming down her face, adding to the commotion.

"You've got my Janie!" he would shout back at her.

"Mr. Harrison if you do not stop shouting, I will be forced to call the police!"

They could hear his twisted grin through the door. "We all know you ain't got a phone," he would slur.

And as Mrs. Sullivan and Mr. Harrison argued through the door, Jack would tend to Jane's bruises with precious ice from the ice box, and mop up the spot of blood forming at the corner of her mouth and put her to sleep in his bed, his arms wrapped around her.

But even these nights could be made worse, for there were several times that Jane and Jack could not force the door closed quite fast enough. On these occasions Robert Harrison had burst through the door triumphantly and grinned maliciously down at Jack, who had placed himself in front of Jane.

"You little Sullivan…" he had said, almost gently, "you let me get to my daughter, you. You let me get to my Janie…" But Jack had shook his head, and even as Jane clawed his back to let her out and to her father, Jack stood his ground. "You're gonna hurt 'er!" he had shouted defiantly, "An' I wont letcha!"

"I'll do worse ta you if ya don' lemme get 'er!"

"NO!"

Mrs. Sullivan had gone next door and gotten Mr. Lemmings by then, who was a bit bigger than Mr. Harrison. Mr. Lemmings had struggled with Mr. Harrison for a moment before urging him out the door and back to his own apartment. But Mr. Harrison would never leave without a final word: "Francis Sullivan, you gonna end up just like yer father!" he had shouted. But Jack only stared at him coldly. "No I wont," he said, "you will."

Mr. Harrison only laughed. "Just you wait, boy," he said, as Mr. Lemmings was pulling him out the door, "just you wait!"

Mrs. Sullivan loved little Janie as her own daughter. She saw her son's attachment to her and nurtured it as much as she could (though it thrived beautifully without always without help). She felt awful that the poor girl had to live with such a father, and always encouraged her to stay at their apartment whenever possible. That was why she never minded the Sunday morning intrusions, or scolded Jack for insulting Mr. Harrison. She only wished she could provide the little girl with a more fatherly father figure. Unfortunately, her own husband, Mr. Francis Sullivan, who Jack was named for, was locked up in a cell. Not that he had been much better than Mr. Harrison. Looking back, she could never understand what had possessed her to accept his proposal in the first place… That was why she called her son Jack. As long as Francis wasn't there to stop her, she would call her son what she pleased. Jack Kelly. And Jack Kelly he remained.

The end of the Sunday mornings came on the 14th of March, 1891. Jack was eight, Hannah six, and Jane five. Two o'clock chimed and in rushed Janie as usual. That morning happened to be of the slow variety for Jack and Jane, and Mr. Harrison forced his way into the room. He bore down on the two children, his anger flaring, perhaps he had had more alcohol than normal (if that was possible), or perhaps Janie had infuriated him more, or some combination of events that made him drop the evil grins and malicious laughter and earnestly growl and snarl at his daughter and her friend huddled together on the floor. He had picked up a frying pan on his way out the door, and held it over them, threateningly, all the while sputtering about Jack's father.

Hannah was in hysterics and Mrs. Sullivan was trying to calm her and go get Mr. Lemmings, and keep an eye on Mr. Harrison all at the same time, but she would not be calmed. She clung to the bottom of her mother's nightgown sobbing and would not let go. Then all of a sudden, her eye caught a flash of the silver pan moving upwards, and then down.… before she knew what she was doing she had taken a vase off a table and brought it down as hard as she could on the back of Robert Harrison's head. And he fell to the floor with a soft thud. Samantha stared, wide eyed, at what she had done, as did Jack and Jane. After a moment, the sound of Hannah's wailing broke their trance and Samantha reached down to check Mr. Harrison's pulse. Thank god… she thought, she hadn't killed him. Determined this time, to solve this once and for all, she gathered the three children and led them next door to the Lemmings' apartment. 

She rapped on the door, and it was answered by a groggy Mr. Lemmings, rubbing his eyes. He took in Samantha's set face, Hannah curled in one arm, the other holding firmly onto Jane's hand, and Jack's little arm, still wrapped protectively around Jane, and ushered them all inside. 

"Margaret!" he called, "come out here, Mrs. Sullivan and the kids are here…"

They heard a bit of scuttering around as Mrs. Margaret Lemmings hurried into her bathrobe and rushed into the kitchen where they were already sitting around the table.

"And then I just saw that pan go up and start to come down on the poor children, that I just didn't think about anything else! I just grabbed what was nearest and hit him over the head with it. Ruined my mother's vase. But down he went. And there he stays," Mrs. Sullivan was saying. Margaret Lemmings gasped, "is he…?"

Samantha sighed, shaking her head. "No. I checked his pulse, he's still breathing. I almost wish he weren't."

Jane looked up from her chair where Jack was tending to her wounds. Mrs. Sullivan softened. "You know I don't mean that sweetie," she said softly. Mr. Lemmings looked as if he did mean it. "I don't know what you can do," he said to Mrs. Sullivan, "you can't let this keep happening. For your sake, for Jane's sake, even little Hannah's sake." He brushed a finger over Hannah's nose as she sat munching a cookie. He looked up at Samantha. "Samantha, you've got to do something."

"That's why I came here," she said.

Mr. Lemmings seemed a little puzzled.

"Well, you have a telephone," she answered simply. He nodded, getting up. He handed her the phone.

Within half an hour the police had come and knocked on the door. There were two officers, and they asked Mrs. Sullivan a few questions about her own husband which she answered reluctantly, then they asked Jane about her father and looked over her bruises. Finally, they made their way cautiously into the Sullivans' apartment, where Robert Harrison was just stirring. They asked him a few questions, which he answered almost truthfully, not able to see the wrong in his actions, and without further ado they brought him to court where he received a nicely sized prison sentence for attacking innocent children.

A year later, tragedy struck again, for the little Sullivan/Harrison family. Mrs. Sullivan became very ill and died after a mere two weeks of sickness.

Though sick themselves with their grief, the three children ventured out into the world. Jack and Jane joined the Manhattan newsies while Hannah was taken in by their aunt in Brooklyn. A newsies' life was not for her.

And there they had stayed. Jack eventually became the leader of the newsies, and at some point they had made the smooth transition from best friends to lovers, though niether was sure exactly when or how it had begun. They marked it's official beginning on Snap's twelfth birthday.

They sat on the roof, watching the sun go down, a small bottle of beer between them, swiped by Jack from a store shelf especially for this celebration. As they took turns gulping the bitter drink, they watched the colors play in the clouds and talked of how much older twelve was than eleven.

"Well, I remember way back when I turned twelve…" said Jack, laughter evident in his voice. Snap shoved him. "It was not that long ago," she said, glaring at him.

"Three years!" he exclaimed.

"Well, maybe if you acted your age, I would believe you," she snapped.

He laughed. "Don't ever change," he said softly, "please." Then he grinned a little, "my confidence would take me over."

"It doesn't already?"

He handed her the bottle and swung his arm around her shoulders comfortably. "Yaknow Janie, I think I'd really miss you if you weren't around," he said.

"Is that supposed to be a compliment? And the name's Snap, may I kindly remind you." A grin played beneath her lips, as they twisted and fretted, determined not to let it out. She gulped the beer to try and hide it.

And that was when she felt it. His lips softly pressed to her cheek. And then they were gone. She turned to face him, her green eyes wide, the bottle still pressed to her lips. Slowly he pushed the bottle away, then smoothed her hair behind her ear. Then his lips brushed against hers preciously, hesitantly, asking permission. After a moment of caution, of her insides twisting and tying and fluttering all at once, she found her lips leaping to his, kissing him without the slightest bit of hesitation, or even question. She wanted to kiss him; she had wanted to for a long time, she supposed, though she hadn't realized it until that very moment.

And three years later, there they were perusing the morning headlines in front of the Horace Greely statue, Snap swinging her legs softly, and Jack taking refuge in their steadiness, the fact that they were there.


End file.
